Pattern of Shadows (20 page)

Although the fire baked the kitchen and the bed was piled high with eiderdowns taken from the other beds, Bill still shivered uncontrollably.

‘Do you want the radio on?’

Bill moved his head on the pillow. Mary watched his lips struggle to form the words. Eventually he muttered, ‘Talk.’ The effort was too much for him. He collapsed into the pillows surrounding him.

‘Talk? I would’ve thought that with all the visitors you’ve had over the last two weeks you’d had enough of hearing folk talking.’ Mary turned the sleeve of the dress she was ironing on the kitchen table. ‘OK, what shall we talk about then? Jean and Patrick having the baby, that’s
something to look forward to, isn’t it?’ She hung the dress on a wooden hanger, hooked it over the scullery door and took a pyjama jacket out of the wash basket. ‘And Ellen? We’d a lovely letter from Ellen yesterday.’ Mary kept the fixed smile on her face. Seeing the vagueness in his eyes, she put the iron down on the asbestos mat and walked over to the bed. ‘It’s all right,’ she said.

‘Ell …?’ he gasped, ‘where …?’

‘He can’t remember what’s happened.’ Her mother, dozing in her armchair, had woken up. She got up. ‘Don’t remind him,’ she whispered. She moved nearer to the bed. ‘Ellen’s gone away for a few days. Bit of a holiday.’

Bill frowned. ‘Want.’

‘She’ll be back before you know it,’ Mary said. ‘Shall I make a brew?’

‘No, I’ll do it. I need to go out to the lavvy first though.’ Winifred wrapped her shawl around her head and folded it across her chest. ‘Tempted though I am to use your father’s throne. It’s freezing out there.’ She clutched the ends of the shawl in her fists. ‘I should shift it; he’ll not be able to use it again, will he?’ She peered under the bed. ‘It’s full,’ she exclaimed. ‘He hasn’t …?’

‘No, he hasn’t. I emptied the bedpan into it.’ Mary said. ‘He’s been too twitchy for me to leave him. Sorry, I’ll take it to the lavatory now.’

‘My job, I think.’

Mary opened the back door for her and closed it as Winifred carefully carried the pot out. When she turned, Bill was still looking at her. ‘What is it Dad?’ Walking over to him she clasped his cold hand as his face contorted. ‘Take your time.’ Tears escaped and rippled over the skin on his cheeks.

He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they searched her face. She could tell he was frightened. But there was something else. She watched the tongue flop out of his mouth, slide along his lower lip and curl back into his mouth. ‘Sorry.’ The word, lisping, spilled out. His Adam’s apple moved under the skin on his neck. ‘Sorry.’ He raised his forefinger slightly and pointed at her. ‘Frank … no … good.’

‘Frank? No good? Well, I know that,’ she said. ‘Does that mean you believe me and not Frank?’

He moved his chin up and down. ‘Mmmm.’

Mary dropped to his knees and covered his hand with both of hers. ‘Oh Dad.’ She rested her forehead on their hands before looking up at him.

His eyelids drooped leaving a thin line of white showing. ‘To … Tom …’ he stammered.

‘Tom?’ She searched his face. ‘You want me to tell Tom you understand what he had to do.’ She waited. ‘That you’re sorry you fell out. I can write and tell him. He’ll be so …’

‘No!’ The word exploded from her father’s mouth.

It was the last thing Bill Howarth said. He died that night.

… so now you know the truth, Mary, and you’ll see why I can’t keep this baby. I have to give it up. There would be too many bad memories and every day it would remind
us. I couldn’t stand it and I know you wouldn’t be able to either. I hope you can forgive me.

Ellen.

‘You were to blame for Dad’s stroke.’ Mary glared at Frank, who was on duty at the side gate.

‘Crap.’ Frank sauntered towards the fence, rifle slung casually over his shoulder.

‘He used to like you,’ she said, ‘thought you were the son he should have had; the son he thought he wanted.’

He sniggered, drawling the words out. ‘Well, who wouldn’t?’

‘But then he found out what you were really like. He got himself into a state and he had a stroke because of you and your lies.’

‘Lies?’ Rocking up and down on his heels, a sneer distorted the lower half of his face.

‘Yes, lies.’ Mary waited a moment, studying him. How had she ever imagined herself in love with this man? ‘Lies about me.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘And the lies you told about being injured at Dunkirk.’

Frank’s jaw jutted forward. ‘What?’ The word clicked against the back of his teeth.

Mary glanced towards the guardhouse at the main gate where the sentry was watching them with curiosity, only yards away. She stepped closer to the fence. ‘Remember Barry Gates? His dad drinks at The Crown. Barry came home on leave.’ She tilted her head, questioning. ‘Mam told me last night that his father came to see my dad before he died.’ Her heart was beating so hard she felt she moved with each pulse. She steadied herself as Frank came closer on the other side of the fence. ‘Barry
was in your unit. He remembers you only too well,’ she said. ‘You and your temper. He also remembered the fight when you were shot in the knee when your own gun went off accidentally.’ Mary looked sideways. There were two guards at the main gate watching them now. ‘What lies did you tell the MoD to get this civilian post, Frank?’ Mary raised her voice.

Frank glanced to his right at the two men. ‘Shut it,’ he said.

‘Well, you must have said something for them to get you a job as a guard.’

‘If you don’t shut your mouth …’ He took a backward step and, gulping in air he leant against the sentry hut. ‘What d’you think you can do about it?’ He held his hand steady as he lit a cigarette.

‘Nothing. Not much anyway.’ She wasn’t going to tell him she’d spoken to Barry Gates and his father and asked them not to tell anyone. They hadn’t understood, but they’d respected Bill and agreed to let Mary deal with Frank, so she repeated, ‘I’m not going to do anything for the time being. It’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to stop following me. Leave me alone. Leave my family alone. Leave Doctor Schormann and the other men alone.’

‘Schormann?’

She kept her eyes on him. ‘Yes.’

‘Fucking knew it. I fucking knew you were in with him.’

‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m not. I just don’t like bullies and that’s what you are.’ She tossed a glance towards the two guards watching. ‘You and your cronies.’

She threaded her fingers through the wire of the fence, speaking softly, ‘And there’s something else, Frank. Ellen.’

Frank’s mouth worked. ‘What about her?’ His eyes narrowed.

‘I had a letter from her.’

‘So? Sod all to do with me.’ Frank threw his
half-finished
cigarette to the floor and ground it underfoot, moving closer.

Mary didn’t move. For the first time in months she wasn’t afraid of him. ‘She’s having a baby.’ His head jerked upwards, his mouth slack. ‘She says it’s yours.’ Frank made a guttural sound. ‘Oh, don’t worry, she wants nothing from you. She’s not keeping it.’ Mary felt a twist of pain as she said the words. ‘I just wanted you to know … that I know what you did to her … to me.’

‘You can’t pin it on me. What about her Yank?’

‘She says she hadn’t slept with Al for weeks … before you … you …’ Mary swallowed. ‘Before he was posted home and I believe her. It’s your child.’

‘You’ll get nowt out of me,’ Frank blustered. One of the two guards began to saunter towards them.

‘Like I said, you don’t have to worry on that score.’ Mary didn’t bother keeping the contempt out of her voice. ‘And I won’t be telling anybody.’ She saw the look of relief flash across his face and felt sick. ‘Except, of course, my brothers, if I need to. You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?’

‘Brothers? Brothers?’ Frank sniggered. ‘You’re joking. That coward in prison?’

‘Don’t underestimate Tom, Frank. He’ll be out one day and he has a fiery temper; especially if someone he loves is getting hurt. So remember, he’ll want you to leave me alone and he’ll want you to leave Ellen alone. If you don’t you’d better watch your back.’ The man walking towards
them had stopped and was kneeling down fiddling with his shoelace. ‘But not just him, there’s Patrick too. I don’t suppose it will be long before Patrick finds out about Barry Gates; knowing how that lot talk in The Crown. But that’s your problem, not mine. Perhaps you’d better start thinking about getting another transfer well away from Ashford.’ Let him stew on that, she thought and forced herself to walk confidently towards the hospital steps.

‘Bring her through to the kitchen; it’s warmer in there than in the parlour.’ Mary put her shoulder to the front door and forced it open. ‘This always sticks in winter; we should have sorted it before the funeral.’

‘I thought we’d have to carry him out through the back,’ Patrick whispered. ‘I could just see us marching down the alley with him.’ He raised his voice, ‘Come on, Mam,’ and helped Winifred up the front step and along the hall. ‘Leave the door, I’ll come back and see to it in a minute.’

Jean helped Mary to get the older woman out of her coat before taking her own off and unpinning the small black hat tilted to the side of her head.

‘I’ve never seen so many at one funeral,’ Mary said, putting the kettle on the range and thinking that her father must have been a much nicer man outside the house than he was to his family. ‘You are stopping for a brew?’ She flung her coat over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and looked at her mother. ‘Mam, I’ll help you with your shoes now.’ She crouched in front of her. ‘Let me take them off and then you can have your cup of …’

‘I should have been with him,’ Winifred cut in. ‘I should have been there.’

‘Mam?’ Mary undid the laces.

‘When he died.’ Winifred looked at each of them in turn. ‘When he died I should have been with him.’

‘He didn’t know, Mam, he died in his sleep.’ Mary slipped the shoes off and put them at the side of the chair.

‘It was my turn to sit with him. You should have woken me up.’

‘No point in worrying about that now, love.’ Mary leaned back, opened the range door and took out a newspaper-wrapped parcel. She shook it and her mother’s slippers fell out. ‘Let’s get these on you, they’re nice and warm.’

‘More than he is. He’s not warm.’ Her voice was flat. ‘He’s cold … cold in that box … in that hole …’

‘Oh Mam.’ Patrick knelt by her side and put his arms around her.

She stroked his hair, staring into the fire and then at Bill’s armchair. ‘I’m tired. I want to go to bed. Take me upstairs, our Mary.’

‘I’ve got some bottles of stout for you Mam. Don’t you want one?’

‘Not at the moment, maybe later. I just want to sleep now.’

When Mary came down Jean had already poured the tea and she and Patrick were sitting at the table.

‘We should have had a bit of a send off for the old man,’ he said.

‘Mam didn’t want a do, Patrick. You can always have a pint on him at The Crown. I’m sure Stan will set something up.’

‘Aye, you’re right.’ He looked around and then towards the hall. ‘I’ll try and fix that door before I go.’

‘Just make sure it’s properly closed and locked, that’s all. We won’t be using it again for a while.’ As soon as he’d gone into the hall, Mary said quietly, ‘Did you see me talking to Frank’s mother outside the church?’

‘The big woman?’ Jean said. ‘I wondered who she was.’

‘It was good of her to come. She’s a nice woman. She said his brother, George, is living with her as well now, since he got demobbed from the National Fire Service in September.’

‘He’s the one who tried to persuade you to stay with Frank?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hmm, how did she find out about your father?’

‘Guess.’ Mary made a face.

‘Did you tell her what Frank’s been doing? You know, following you?’

‘No. She wouldn’t be able to do anything and it might make him worse if she tried.’

The front door thudded.

‘How, Mary?’ Jean said. ‘How could things get worse? From what you say he’s still following you everywhere.’

‘He might change now. I told him to leave me alone. Now Dad’s died there’s no need for him to come anywhere near the house or us …’

‘Do you think he’ll take any notice? He hasn’t so far, so what’s so different now?’

Mary didn’t answer. She hadn’t told Jean about Barry Gates or Ellen’s letter.

‘I don’t care what you say, you should let me tell Patrick.’

‘Tell me what?’ Patrick stood in the doorway.

‘Nothing, love, did you manage the door?’

‘Yeah, I’ll come back with my carpenter’s plane and scrape a bit off the top edge. I’ll do the back gate as well.’ He looked at the girls, his face guarded. ‘We off now? I’m due in work.’

At the back door Mary said, ‘I’m going to see Tom next week. Let him know how everything went. Will you sit with Mam, while I’m gone, Jean?’

‘Of course. Does he know about us?’ Jean said. ‘Having a family?’

‘I thought you’d have written to him.’ Mary looked at them both in surprise.

‘No,’ Jean said. ‘We thought you would.’

‘It’s your news and he’d have appreciated a visit from you, Patrick. You could have told him yourself.’

Patrick shook his head. ‘Been too busy lately.’

Mary closed the door behind them. As far as she knew Patrick had never been near The Scrubs. She sighed and collected the mugs off the table and took them into the scullery. Obviously the old animosity still rankled in her youngest brother. Even with Dad gone it seemed the family was always going to be split.

Winifred was still asleep three hours later. Mary peeped in at the bedroom door. The room was shadowed orange and black from the small fire that she’d lit in the grate earlier. She waited for the harsh coughing to split the silence of the house before she remembered she would never hear it again. Her mother was still curled in the foetal position that she’d been in when she fell asleep but Mary must have disturbed her; she straightened her legs,
shivered and drew them up again.

Mary backed onto the landing but not before she heard the whisper, ‘Bill?’ She saw Winifred run her hand over the well-worn dent in the flock of the pillow where her husband had lain his head for so many years. ‘Oh, Bill.’